Wicked

WICKED Where are the boundaries of man-- Rocky mountains jostling to reach sky’s corner White crashing rivers leaping with spawning fish Or , the secret frontiers of the heart Which wind blows the wicked across my path? Fury Wind of the North—snow blinding Browsing South Wind—lilac scenting Or, unguarded breezes yearning to burst free my yoke Green is certain the ground beneath moon shadows But Night secrets spread grey the carpet of my world. Danger prances joker-heartless through our door at whim None dare stop him—And his brother Terror feeds the babes. Victoria Anderson-Throop ©